The Story of Jessie eBook

“This is to tell you I am very
ill, dying. The doctor says that if I
want to let any one know, I must do so at once.
You are the only ones that care, and I am writing
to you to say good-bye for ever. I have
always hoped that some day I should see you
again, and my dear home, and my dearest, dearest child.
I am sure you will forgive me the wrong I did,
and my cruel behaviour. I couldn’t
die happy if I didn’t feel sure of that; but,
dear father and mother, I know your loving hearts.
No words can tell how I’ve pined and longed
for my little Jessie, my own little baby, all
these years. At first I thought I should
have died for want of her, but I knew she was happy—­that
was my only comfort—­and I could not have
found clothes nor food for her. I was
going to write to you as soon as we were settled,
but Harry lost that situation almost at once,
and since then we have been on the tramp and never
had a home. It has been a cruel life,
and I have often thanked God on my knees that
my darling was spared it. I know you love her
and have taken care of her. Don’t let her
forget me, dear father and mother, and don’t
ever let her go from you. She is yours—­I
give her to you, and I thank you with all my heart
for all you’ve done for her. Give
her my love—­oh, that I could kiss
her dear little face again! Good-bye, dear father
and mother, I can never forgive myself for all
the misery I have caused you; but I know you
will forgive me, and believe I loved you all
the time. The woman here is kind to me, and she
has promised to keep this letter safe, and send
it to you when I am gone. Good-bye.”
“Your
loving daughter,”
“Lizzie.”

The letter, which had been placed in an envelope and
directed by Lizzie’s own hand, came in a larger
envelope, and with it a slip of paper on which was
written in a good firm hand, “Your poor daughter
died this morning. Yours truly, Mary Smith.”

The letter bore the Birmingham postmark, but no other
clue.

“We don’t even know where she died,”
sobbed Thomas, “that I may go and bring her
home to bury her,” and this thought hurt the
poor old man cruelly.

“If you did know, he probably wouldn’t
let you have her poor body, not if he thought you
wanted it,” cried Patience bitterly. She
could not bring herself to mention her son-in-law
by name. “He would hurry her into her
grave rather than she should come back to us,”
and then she burst into bitter weeping again.

CHAPTER VI.

TAKEN BY SURPRISE.

After that first outburst of grief, Thomas Dawson
did not speak much of his trouble, but it was none
the less deep for that. In fact, it was so deep,
and the wound was such a cruel one, it was almost more
than he could bear.